Hips Don't Lie
by whichshampoo
Summary: Ponyboy and his friends have always had it rough, but just because they couldn't afford dance classes didn't mean they were bad dancers. Epic parody. Two or three-shot—not sure at the moment.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: We, taylorjeanjn and whatcoloristhesky, do not own _The Outsiders_ or any other references you might notice.**

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When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had two things on my mind: Elvis Presley and dancing. I want to be like Elvis. He's my hero up on the screen, and I like his movements. The way he thrusts his pelvis from side to side, making the ladies swoon. I keep trying to get the move down, but it doesn't seem right. Dally has it though. He's one tuff dancer, let me tell you.

I had a long walk home and no company, and if there was one thing that Dallas always threatened to beat into my head, it was to practice when I had nothing better to do. Well, the movie was over, and I _didn't_ have anything better to do, so I decided to sway my hips as I walked, turning my knees in like Elvis does.

I decided that I should tone it down though when some Socs drove by and shouted "Greaser!" at me. See, the Socs are classically trained dancers because they can afford it. Us greasers are just as good as them, but we usually can't afford the classes that the Socs can. They wear their tights and we wear our jeans. They have technique and we have soul. I'm not saying Socs or greasers are better; that's just the way things are.

Before I knew it, a red Corvair pulled up beside me and five Socs got out; I couldn't help but notice how gracefully they did it. Automatically, I stood up straight, my feet jutting out into first position. I wondered if I could get away unscathed by acting like a real, trained dancer. I could only hope, though.

"Hey, grease," one Soc said in a rough voice. "We're gonna show you what happens when you soil the name of dance—pointing your toes like _that_." He nudged my feet, causing me to nearly topple over and lose my swan-like form. The only thing that saved me was Dally's voice, echoing through my head: _C'mon, kid, you gotta _be_ the swan. _It was as if it was just yesterday that he was teaching me the basic steps of ballet.

I froze, standing silently as the Socs cussed me out, mocking me. There aren't a lot of options when you know you're either about to be mugged or out-danced. I only moved when I heard another Soc's voice behind me. "Need a dance lesson, greaser?" I turned in time to see the speaker reach into his back pocket and pull out a pair of bright pink ballet shoes with a flourish.

I pushed my shoulders back and lifted my chin—the way a true dancer holds himself—and told him, "No." I backed up, toe-ball-heel with my feet turned out. My form was just as good as theirs was, but did they care? No.

The Soc with the ballet shoes took a flying leap towards me. "No one sickles their foot and gets away with it!" They twirled me around, but I didn't get the chance to find my center and ended up falling to the ground, ungracefully.

I started screaming for help. Five Socs against one kid greaser was not a fair dance-off. "Darry! Soda! _Help!"_

Someone shoved the ballet shoes in my mouth, and I nearly gagged. Whosever these were needed to wash their feet more often. "Shut up, kid, _shut up!"_

Suddenly, they were running and the gang was doing flying leaps over me to get at them. I didn't do well when I wasn't prepared. Dally did. He could find his center and do a perfect pirouette from any position. He was even better than _Darry,_ who actually used to take lessons with the Socs when he was in high school.

The Socs drove off in their Corvair, leaving one lone Soc behind, still dancing. Dally stepped towards him menacingly and I guess that he'd had enough dancing for the day because, as soon as the Soc was within his reach, he simply gave him a rough shove. The Soc fell over, jumped back up, and then sashayed away, crying.

I spit the ballet shoes out of my mouth, shaking. Darry came into my line of vision and took a hold of my arm, helping me up. He twirled me around a few times, looking me over. I told him to stop; he was making me dizzy.

"I'm sorry," he said. He wasn't, really. Darry's only been sorry once before in his life. That happened when, a year or two ago, he and Soda had been practicing lifts in our living room. But just as Darry had lifted Soda up above his head, he'd gotten a cramp in his arm. He'd felt real bad when Soda's face had been introduced to the carpet like that.

Soda appeared at my side, inspecting me. Finally, his eyes rested on the nasty ballet shoes that were still on the ground. He nodded towards them. "They pull those shoes on you?"

"Yeah." I looked away, ashamed. "I didn't point my toes right."

Darry looked at me incredulously. "You don't ever think."

"Hey," Soda snapped, grinning at Darry but being serious at the same time. I still don't know how he manages to do that—be serious and reckless at the same time. "Leave my kid brother alone. No one puts Pony in a corner."

Darry gave him a look before cracking a grin. Soda's the only one who can get him to smile anymore. It's no wonder Darry likes to dance with Soda more than he does with me. "You're nuts, Soda."

Soda raised an eyebrow, still grinning as he leant over and ruffled my hair. "Must run in the family."

The gang decided to come over then—four lean, hard guys that were real tuff dancers.

The first to mosey on over to us was Steve Randle. A few years ago, we all got together and decided that Steve's just too boring of a name, so we decided to brainstorm some stage names for him. He said no to everything that we threw out there, so now he's stuck with "Scary Steve" for a name. He _is _kinda scary though; he gets this real intense look on his face whenever he starts dancing. It's the kind of look that makes you think that, if you forget the moves, he'll come kick you in the shins. Still, lifts are Steve's specialty. He can just pick you up, anytime, anywhere, and suddenly you're in the perfect lift position. And if not, "Scary Steve" comes back out and _makes_ you get it right.

Following him, Two-Bit Mathews came along. Two-Bit's a stage name, too. His real name's Keith, but almost nobody remembers that now. One day, just before we renamed him, Two-Bit came into the house really mad because "no one in the dance world took him seriously with a name like Keith." We tried telling him that no one took him seriously because he just couldn't shut up, but he _still _wouldn't stop talking. Eventually, we came up with a nickname decent enough for him and he's been a real happy guy since. Two-Bit's a pretty tuff dancer, and he's our secret weapon, too. Whenever we're in trouble, we just have him stand next to our opponent and talk their ear off. We figured out that they'll give up some time or another just to get away from him.

If I had to pick the real character of the gang though, it'd be Dallas Winston. Dally's the angriest and scariest of all of us. Even a double pirouette can't calm him down sometimes, and that's really saying something. For example, there was one time where a guy went up to him and suggested that, under a stage name, he should call himself Roxy. The guy ended up losing three teeth.

He spent three years in a show on Broadway in New York; the line that separates the professionals and us normal dancers isn't present in Dally. He hates the Socs because they have the "artistic freedom" that, without money, he was never able to get. At age ten, Dal starred in a show over a course of three months, playing a lynx. He was a child star, but could never get past that "lynx-boy" image. He hates the world now.

Johnny Cade was last and least. If you can picture a little dark puppy that has been kicked too many times and is lost in a crowd of strangers, you'll have Johnny. He was the youngest, next to me, smaller than the rest, with a slight build. We'd started out as partners—he and I are constantly playing catch-up to the others in some respects. We aren't nearly as strong or experienced as them, and Johnny's constantly getting smacked around by his father for letting his hair get in his eyes when he dances. He has this nervous, suspicious look to his eyes, like he isn't a good enough dancer to hang around with us. I blame the Socs for that.

Steve lit up a cigarette. "What're you doin', dancin' home by your lonesome?" he asked, flicking his ashes at me.

I stared at the hole in my tennis shoe. "I was at the movies, and I was tryin' to copy Elvis' dancing."

I knew Steve was just about to say somethin' smart back, about never dancing without a partner when you're trying to learn something new, but Dally spoke up before he could. "Speakin' of movies. I'm thinkin' of walkin' over to the Nightly Double tomorrow night. I heard there was a new musical out. Thought I'd check it out and see if there were any new moves. Anyone wanna come?"

Steve shook his head. "Me and Soda are pickin' up Evie and Sandy for a dance."

He didn't need to look at me the way he did then. I wasn't going to ask if I could come; I knew what kind of dance he meant. It was the kind of dance that all the greasers went to, and none of the Socs. Soda had explained it to me once. Socs had dances that were "home to the family foxtrot," and greasers had "dirty" dances.

Darry sighed, just like I knew he would. Darry never had time to dance much anymore. "I'm working tomorrow night."

Dally looked at the rest of us. "How about ya'll? Two-Bit? Johnnycake, you and Pony wanta come?"

"Me and Johnny'll come," I said. "Okay, Darry?"

"Yeah, since it ain't a school night." Darry was real good about letting me go off and dance with the guys on the weekends. On school nights, it was all practice and homework.

"I was plannin' on getting boozed up tomorrow night," Two-Bit said. "If I don't, I'll walk over and find ya'll."

Steve was looking at Dally's hand real intense-like. Dally's ring, which he out-danced a senior to get, was back on his finger. "You break up with Sylvia again?" I knew what Steve was thinking. Sylvia was Dallas' dance partner and they were always breaking up. Somehow he always got her back when he needed her, though.

"Yeah, and this time it's for good. That little broad was out dancin' with some other guy the other night."

If it were anybody but Dally, I would have been worried. You needed a dance partner in this part of town, just like you needed a gang for a dance-off.

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**A/N: Muffin basket and greaser of your choice to whomever can find the most references!**

**Reviews are much appreciated, and look out for the next chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

**We apologize for the long wait for this chapter. Procrastination + school work = A four month wait. There's some language in this chapter too, so be ready for that.**

**Disclaimer: We do not own **_**The Outsiders**_**, the Jaws theme song, or any other references you may notice.**

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Johnny and I met up with Dally under a street light, watching as he called some girl. "…C'mon, baby, you _know_ my hips don't l—" He broke off, a smirk briefly flitting across his face before he scowled at me. "You got jumped 'cause you went dancing home by yourself. Now you've got a partner and you just _walk_ over here like a fuckin' pansy."

I looked away, doing a half-hearted grapevine to the right.

"No no no," Dallas corrected. "You're doing it all wrong, kid."

I sighed. Ever since I was attacked by those Socs and their damn ballet shoes, the gang has been getting on my case about dancing—Dallas especially. He said he was going to train me up good so that I'd never have to eat shoes again.

"Well then show me," I told him, crossing my arms over my chest. We were on our way to The Nightly Double to see that new musical, and Dally had been drilling me on grapevines since the jumping.

He rolled his eyes. "I don't know why I should. You oughta have this by now."

"Aw, Dal, just show him," Johnny spoke up. He was using the side of a building to balance himself as he practiced his ballet positions.

Dallas scowled at him. "I oughta show my fan-kick on your face for getting mouthy with me."

Johnny looked away quickly, pliéing.

Dallas turned made to me, sneering. "Alright," he said, "pay attention 'cause I ain't showing you this again." He crossed his right foot behind his left first and then crossed his left foot in front of his right. I always messed that part up—never knowing whether to cross in front or back first. Usually, I crossed in front, and then ended up stumbling through it when Dallas yelled at me.

"Got it?"

I nodded.

"Good. Now grapevine over to that pretty little thing on the corner." He grinned wolfishly. "Hey, baby," he called. "You want me to show you a few moves?"

I stood still, watching Dally intently as he took a running leap over the fence to get into the drive in. We could've just gotten in the theater by buying tickets, but Dally hated doing things the legal way. Sometimes, he didn't even _dance_ legally. Everybody knew that he put extra metal on the bottom of his tap shoes to sound more intimidating in dance offs. He was also famous for padding his leotards but I won't say where. That's how he got his street nickname: Big, blonde, and beautiful.

Johnny and I followed Dal. On our way over to find some seats, we passed a Soc who was standing with his red haired girlfriend. I heard him murmur something in her ear before some loud music came on in his car, floating out through the open windows.

"Fuckin' Beatles," Dally muttered as he kept walking.

I felt my face get hot as I watched the Soc start dancing slowly and felt my eyes get wide as he slowly starting taking off his coat, dancing like no one in public ever should. He finally whipped his coat off, flinging it in his girlfriend's face. The guy started shaking his hips, pulling his shirt up so you could see his abs and stepping closer to her.

Looking irritated, the girl shook his coat off, saying, "I told you, Bob, I'm never going out with you while you're dancing like _that _and I mean it!"

I looked around, seeing that Dally and Johnny had both already taken a seat. I walked over to them, shooting a look over my shoulder and seeing the red haired girl stalking away, some other girl who must've been sitting in the car following after her. They made their way over to the seats right in front of us.

Dally got this look in his eye as he saw them, and, even before he started, I knew what he was going to do. He started tapping his feet intensely, wiggling his eyebrows at the back of the red-haired girl's head. Then he started shimmying, leaning forward so he was right by the girls' heads. I sat there, struck dumb, and Johnny got up hastily and walked back towards the concession stand.

The redhead was starting to get either mad or scared. The other one pretended that she didn't notice Dally. But he was getting impatient. He looked over at me and winked before pulling a radio out of his pocket; I never did figure out how he managed to fit it in there. He looked over at some kid nearby, glaring at him until the guy took the hint and plugged the radio in. An Elvis Presley song came out of the speakers and Dally started really getting into it. He's the best Elvis impersonator I know, but I guessed that Socs just don't appreciate that.

"Stop tapping your feet and turn off that music," the redhead said, turning around to look at him coolly.

Dally turned the music up. "Who's gonna make me?"

She glared at him one last time before turning back to the movie and chomping on her gum, obviously annoyed. I thought she was a pretty tough chick to stand up to Dallas the way she did, and if it weren't for the fact that she was Socy, I may have helped ol' Dal in his next endeavors.

"You got a dance partner, baby?" Dal asked, lunging so that his face was dangerously close to hers—his feet were even turned out! Johnny came back at that point, and Dallas winked at him before adding, "'Cause I could definitely show you some moves."

"_Please_ leave us alone," she said. "Just be nice and leave us alone."

Dallas grinned wolfishly. "I'm never nice." He lunged further into Cherry, moving his hips, trying to get her to "dance" with him. You know, the kind of dancing that'll get you disqualified.

She looked disgusted. Her idea of dancing definitely wasn't Dally's. He continued though, and she finally grabbed a coke from someone nearby and dumped it down his pants.

"Fiery, huh? That's the way I like my dance partners."

Johnny reached over and turned the radio off, waving a rose at Dallas. "Leave her alone, Dally."

"Huh?" I wasn't sure if Dallas was reacting to the fact that Johnny was holding a rose, he had cold soda dripping down his pants, or that Johnny had talked back to him.

Johnny swallowed hard, looking a little paler than usual and said, "You heard me. Leave her alone."

Dallas straightened up and glared at him, but walked away without doing or saying anything. You just didn't tell Dallas Winston what to do. Once, when we were at a dance off at the bowling alley, a guy told him to move so he could do some flips. Dally fan-kicked him in the face. A complete stranger, too.

Johnny settled own again, sitting next to me, and I took the opportunity to ask him about the rose. He just shrugged, rolled it between his fingers a bit and said, "New item at the concession stand. Like a greaser's special or somethin'."

It turned out that Socs and greasers could get along okay once in a while. We'd ended up sitting up with the two Soc girls, Cherry and Marcia. And even good ol' Two-Bit, who ended up stopping by and nearly giving Johnny a heart attack, could woo Marcia just as good as any greaser girl.

We were walking Cherry and Marcia home from the movie and I was listening to Cherry talk. I almost didn't notice the noise that was gradually getting closer.

Dun dun. Dun dun. Dun-dun dun-dun. Dun-dun dun-dun dun-dun dun-dun dun-dun dun-dun dun-dun dun-dun …

I turned around to see where the music was coming from and saw the Soc from earlier, Cherry's boyfriend, leaping towards us furiously, throwing in an occasional twirl for good measure. Somewhere behind him, I heard another guy's out of breath voice. "_Bob_!" He sucked in some air. "Can you … slow … _down_?"

"Randy…" Marcia murmured nearby.

I stepped to the side to see Randy about twenty feet behind his friend, awkwardly trying to imitate Bob while balancing something large on his head. I squinted in the dark, trying to figure out what it was. When I did, I felt my eyebrows furl.

"It's this routine they have," Cherry whispered. "Bob comes in for the attack while Randy has to lug the radio around with their theme song after him. Bob likes to throw it at people."

"What do we do?" Marcia asked no one in particular.

Cherry was the one who answered. "Act normal."

Two-Bit straightened immediately, getting rid of the greaser slouch he was so used to walking around with and started to act like an actual dancer. "Who's acting?"

"You'd think the lackey would at least be in better shape," I muttered, only to receive a tap to the stomach from Two-Bit as Randy caught up.

Bob lunged at us suddenly, his feet turned out into fourth position, and his arms rounded perfectly like he was going to do an inside pirouette or something.

"What are you doing with our girls?" bellowed Bob dramatically.

Two-Bit leaned on Johnny a bit. "What? Ain't got enough oxygen flow to figure it out? Ya'll should really be in better shape, what with ya bein' professionally trained an' all."

Bob glared. I don't think anyone ever dared to question his training before based on the look he had a split second before he caught himself. "Shuddup, you stupid grease, 'fore I tap dance on your face."

"Ballet shoes don't hurt, pretty boy," Two-Bit quickly informed him, looking disinterested, but I could see he was having fun with it. Two-Bit always had fun when we were anticipating some sort of dance off.

"Oh, I'll show you hur—" Bob lunged deeper, but Cherry grabbed his arm and pulled him back, interrupting him.

"Stop!" she cried. "Just stop …"

Bob ignored her, but stopped lunging at us least. "I challenge you to a dance off!" he yelled in the same voice as before.

"What is it with this guy's voice?" I muttered under my breath, earning a slight kick from Johnny. Socs tended to make him nervous, and it was already a pretty tense situation. Thankfully Bob and Randy didn't notice it, though, and we slipped into a tense, somewhat awkward silence.

Biting her lip, Cherry asked, "So there's going to be a dance off?"

"Yeah," I began. "It's—"

Bob cut in enthusiastically from behind me. "A dance off of _death_."

I glanced over at Two-Bit and Johnny silently to see if either of them had any idea what he was talking about. They both looked back with dumbfounded expressions, and for once, I didn't have anything to say.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Randy shift awkwardly before taking the beer away from his friend. Good thinking, I thought, and nervously turned my feet in and out.

"Saturday night!" Bob continued. "Be there at seven, and bring your dancing _shoes!_"

Randy tossed the beer can into the street and gently led Bob and the girls away. "_Okay, _time to go Bob."

He raised his finger in the air one last time, startling the girls and bellowing, "Be there!"

Two-Bit, Johnny, and I stood there for a moment looking after them and stealing glances at each other, until I just couldn't hold it in any longer. "Seriously! What was with his voice?!"


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